


The Road is Long

by NoPerson



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depiction of Major Character Death, Gen, Through the Years, You Have Been Warned, this does not end happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPerson/pseuds/NoPerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Sam could remember, and even a little before then, Dean has been carrying him through difficult times. Though his brother has always been strong enough to carry him, Sam is worried that his strength will fail when it's time for him to return the favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

For as long as Sam can remember, and even before then, Dean has been carrying him. In a sense that had always been both literal and figurative, Sam has always counted on Dean being by his side for every illness, for every injury, and for every kind of hurt you could possibly imagine. Dean was the one who comforted him when his first crush didn’t turn out so well. Dean was the one who stitched all of his cuts and bandaged all of his wounds. Dean was the one who taught him how to be independent, the one who taught him how to tie his shoes and how to ride a crappy bike and how to write his letters in a horrible scrawl that turned out to be barely legible. Even when Sam was away at Stanford, living his own life and finding his way in the world, he knew he could always fall back on Dean if he needed to.

Dean’s always been there. No matter what. But now, Sam is afraid that he won’t be able to return the favor. 

I.

Though Sam couldn’t remember it, for he was just a tiny child of six months, Dean’s long crusade of carrying Sammy started with their burning house and dying mother.

Of course, Dean had held his younger brother many times before that fateful night. Their mother had absolutely loved teaching Dean how to properly cradle Sammy’s head, how to hold his body gently without a risk of dropping the baby. Dean had taken to this task with a fierce determination that made his parents swell with pride. In the mornings, when he found his tired mother sitting in her wooden rocking chair, the baby held carefully in her arms, Dean would strive to impress his parents. He would march up to his mother’s chair and stand firmly with his arms held outward, flannel pajamas slipping loosely over his skin and palms pointing steadily at the ceiling. His mother would smile, her tired eyes crinkling joyfully at the edges as she passed Sammy over to Dean and watched carefully as the baby settled happily in his folded arms. Thankfully, Sammy never seemed to mind the transition to his brother’s arms, his only response being a content gurgle rather than a sharp cry of despair.

But this time, carrying Sammy from the destruction of their life was a very different task. Before, holding Sammy was a simple pleasure that pleased his parents and allowed Dean to satisfy his curiosity over the existence of his younger brother. Now, cradling his brother’s tiny form is a responsibility, a duty that could mean the difference between life and death. If Dean were to stumble, if Dean ended up dropping Sammy while running precariously down the stairs and out onto the damp lawn, Dean would have failed. He would have failed his mother, a kind woman who loved him and Sammy dearly. He would have failed his father, a man who adored both him and his brother with a ferocity that sometimes surprised Dean. Most importantly of all, Dean would have failed Sammy, and Dean’s just starting to realize how important and special Sammy must be.

It’s in this moment that Dean begins to learn, even if he doesn’t understand that these fleeting thoughts of protecting his brother are quickly transforming into sturdy instincts that will remain for the rest of his life. Here, Dean begins to learn that the most important thing is to keep Sammy safe, because Mary cherished him and John cherished him and Dean realizes that maybe he cherishes him, too. 

His father has soon scooped him off of his feet, carrying them both in a sprint across the lawn that takes them away from any chance at normalcy. Soon, the sirens are screaming outside of the house and water is being sprayed pointlessly at the shattered windows. Soon, the neighbors are crowding outside on the street, whispering amongst themselves as they acknowledge this tragedy with a detachedness that will lead them back to their daily routines by the morning. Soon, the crowds will fade but still, John will sit on the hood of his car, Sammy now in his hands as Dean sits silently beside them. Soon, Dean will try to forget the feeling of the scorching fire by his face, Dean will try to forget the fact that once upon a time, he could have lived a life of safety and security. But still, Dean will never what it meant when he held Sammy in his arms. He will never forget the importance of his brother.

Days pass and Dean finds himself in a strange room, a place with beds and windows and painted walls that will never be a substitute for the house that he had grown in and loved. Here, Dean stops asking when his mom will come home because he soon learns that this isn’t home and his mom certainly isn’t coming back. His dad spends these days drifting in strange state that exists between utter sorrow and uncontrollable rage. He paces the floor, he sits on a creaky chair by a scratched table, and sometimes, he leaves for hours at a time with his two sons stewing in confusion on one of the beds.

At first, Dean chooses to wallow in his despair. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t eat except for when his dad makes him, and he doesn’t move from the spot he was originally planted in. His mom is never coming back, and this fact tears a hole in his heart that hurts every fiber of his being. No longer would she kiss his forehead when he was sick, no longer would she ruffle his hair or cut his sandwiches or sing him to sleep. A world without her seems impossible so, for a while, Dean refuses to exist in such a world. 

Then, perhaps a week after his life ended, Dean hears Sammy wailing from his corner of the bed. Up until this moment, his dad had always been present in this unfamiliar room when Sammy started crying. His dad would solemnly feed Sammy and change his diapers and rock him mournfully until he fell asleep. While Dean tried to distance himself from reality, his dad made sure Sammy would still live.

But now, Dean and Sammy are alone in the room, their dad gone doing mysterious things. Dean wishes Sammy would stop crying, he wishes he would just stop because Dean wants to cry too but he’s not sure if he has any more tears left. There’s no one here to silence Sammy so Dean suffers with his brother for a few minutes before deciding he can’t possibly stand the piercing screams anymore. His legs shaky and his will shakier, Dean rises and slowly shuffles his way to his brother’s side. 

It’s been so long since he’s seen his brother’s face that it’s almost a surprise to see the baby’s pinched face, mouth open to cry and skin flushed a bright red from exertion. Dean almost finds it strange how intensely Sammy can scream. He never once thought that one human could possibly produce such noise.

Looking down at his struggling baby brother, Dean gets that protective and determined feeling he got while running for their lives across their old lawn. He realizes that while he had been feeling heartbroken and lost for the past few days, his brother had been feeling the same way. Suddenly, baby Sammy had been thrust into a scary world where his bed was weird and hard and the room smelled strange and his mother’s warmth had been missing for what felt like years. And suddenly, Dean remembers that he can’t fail Sammy, that he can’t let Sammy down or he’ll have failed everyone he loves.

Tentatively, Dean leans down and carefully scoops Sammy up in his arms, carrying his screaming brother and bouncing him in the way he had often seen his mother do. Dean tries to shush him, he really tries to rock his brother back into a realm of comfort that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. His hands aren’t shaking and Dean isn’t afraid because he knows there is no way he would ever let his brother fall. .

Slowly, Sammy seems to calm down, his agonizing wails dimming down into pitiful cries. Dean frowns down at little Sammy, wishing he could find a way to will away his new responsibility’s pain.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” He coos, speaking for the first time in days. “It’s okay.”

Sammy begins to drift away to sleep, and Dean sits down on the bed so he care for his little brother.

After Dean enthusiastically accepts his new role as Sammy’s caretaker, everything doesn’t come quickly and easily. 

The first time the four year old tries to change Sammy’s diaper, it’s a disaster. The entire time, Sammy cries and cries and Dean feels like crying because he had never thought that wiping a baby’s bottom and wrapping it up again would be so difficult. He does it uncomfortably on the table, with nothing beneath Sammy as he tries to be as gentle as possible. In the end, the diaper ends up twisted and strapped on crookedly, but Dean is proud that he succeeded in completing his task. The next time John is in the room, he eyes the diaper wearily before changing Sammy again, completely aware of Dean watching intently from the opposite side of the room.

Dean learns how to feed Sammy. He learns how to burp him and comfort him and even learns that tickling his tummy makes him very happy. Slowly but surely, Dean learns what makes his brother’s mind tick, and he learns how to keep his brother healthy. 

When they start to move around again in the car, their dad’s determined but stoic face leading the way, Dean still takes care of Sammy. While shopping, Dean makes sure a part of their meager funds are put towards Sammy’s various needs. In their motel rooms, Dean checks over his baby brother’s crib over and over again. He makes sure that baby food is always at the ready and he keeps the baby bottle full. When they are all alone, Dean plays peekaboo with Sammy and makes him hats out of newspaper. 

Most importantly of all, when their dad is passed out on the other bed and Sammy still needs put to bed, Dean carries him. He holds him delicately in his arms and rocks him to sleep, humming that song their mom used to sing. Even after Sammy is deep asleep, Dean still carries him and rocks him and places him carefully in the crib. 

After all of the fire and death and loneliness, Dean finds a purpose in keeping his brother safe. No matter the circumstance, no matter the cost, Dean learns he can never let that go.


	2. Chapter Two

II.

Quickly, Sammy grows. He changes from a chubby baby into a little boy that searches for non-existent adventures and likes to prod his curious nose into the business of his older brother and father, even when they are reluctant to say certain things to young Sammy. Dean no longer rocks him to sleep and though Sammy stubbornly insists that he’s a big boy now, there are still the nights where his dreams scare him and he whimpers as he clutches his pillow to his chest. On these nights, Dean doesn’t make a fuss over letting Sammy sit closer to him on their shared bed, the proximity bringing comfort in a darkened motel room. Dean never minds whispering stories in Sammy’s ear until he drifts off once more, telling soft tales of brothers being superheroes, just the two of them against the world.

All grown up, at least in his own eyes, Sammy is smart for a six year old. In school, he solves his homework problems quickly and thoughtfully, his handwriting carefully rewritten to provide the best quality of work. Even when he finishes his work much earlier than the rest of his class, he is too polite, too considerate, and too shy to even consider asking his teacher for some more things to do. Instead, he sits quietly at his low table, body pulled together as closely together as possible in his tiny plastic chair. Sometimes, he rechecks his work, going over his paper as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth as he concentrates on achieving perfection. Sometimes, he just waits patiently, his eyes silently scanning the classroom with a curiosity his teacher once mistook for a lack of interest in his homework.

Most of the time, Sammy pulls out the special pack of crayons Dean convinced their dad to get him for his sixth birthday. With these treasures, Sammy meticulously draws pictures that he can show Dean after school. He loves showing Dean his artwork because no matter what he creates, be it an abstract self-portrait or a messy outline of two superhero brothers, Dean’s eyes never fail to sparkle with pride as he ruffle’s Sammy’s mop of hair while complimenting his masterpiece. Sammy can’t show his dad his work because the man often finds it a silly adventure or is not even around to notice, but Dean always makes Sammy feel proud of his accomplishments.

When Sammy’s teacher, the one with the frizzy hair and bug-eyed classes that give him the creeps, figures out that he spends the majority of class dwelling in blissful free time, she starts changing things for him. She gives him more homework and activities to complete, she sends him home with extra papers and she tells him she’s letting him try some of the homework from the next grade. Sammy doesn’t mind the extra work, but he’s sad that he can no longer make pictures for Dean. Soon, she starts trying to call his dad about moving him up a grade, but she never gets a chance to talk with the busy man. 

But before Sammy can skip ahead, their dad is back in the motel with dirty clothes and a grim face, telling the boys to quickly pack their things before nightfall. Then, that school with the bug-eyed teacher becomes another forgotten town in the distance, leaving him to start the process all over again.

Due to his innate curiosity and intelligence, Sammy knows that his brother and dad are keeping something from him, something big. This something has to be the reason they’re always jumping from town to town, always leaving just as Sammy starts to make friends. Sammy knows something is off because his dad leaves him with Dean for long periods of time, and even though Dean is fun and a nice big brother, he has to wonder why their dad doesn’t want to be around them. Sammy wonders if it has to do with the fact that their mom is gone and neither Dean nor Dad will talk about it. Whenever Sammy asks Dean what their dad does, for he learned earlier on not to bother his dad with stupid questions, Dean’s eyes flit around the room and try to focus on anything but the eager Sammy while his mouth spits out a lame excuse that Sammy knows isn’t true. But Sammy learns not to pester Dean too much about it because he sees the way Dean nervously watches the door to their room and stays up past bedtime when he thinks Sammy’s asleep. 

From town to town, they keep on moving. Most of them are small towns, the ones whose names are hastily written as a final thought on maps. They are the towns with small schools and tightly knit groups of children who need some persuading to accept Sammy and Dean. Often, the kids are nice when Sammy offers to share his precious crayons with them and they’ll quickly keep in the loop when it comes to the childish gossip they come across. Occasionally, he is treated as a freakish outcast, the one kid who eat his snacks quietly and works at the empty table by the dusty storage closet in the corner of the room. Sometimes, his status as a new kid earns him honors while at other times, he is left completely ignored or despised. Sammy learns how to be lonely with grace, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. Though he has Dean to walk him back from school and to ask how his day was, Sammy wishes he could have a friend other than his brother.

Because of his loneliness and desperation, Sammy decides to borrow the bike.

His dad had always been one to force strange rules and exercise caution while still holding strange expectations of his children. While Sammy could go to school, he had to be accompanied by Dean while walking both ways. While he expected Sammy to stay interested in his studies, he still wanted him to fly under the radar and never attract attention to himself. He wasn’t allowed to learn how to ride a bike, which was perhaps the worst rule as all of Sammy’s cool peers at school were starting to learn how to ride them.

One day during recess, Sammy happens to mention his current predicament to a small group of fascinated kids by the swings, and almost immediately a kid named Tommy offers to let Sammy borrow his bike until he can ride it. While his father’s rule burns at the front of his mind, Sammy desperately wants to establish his place among these kids, meaning he would need to learn this particular skill. 

The next Friday, Tommy drops off his blue bike in the evening at the motel’s rusty bike rack.

On Saturday, Dean needs to visit a small grocery store down the street so, after promising to stay safely inside to motel room, Sammy takes this opportunity to take the bike out to the nearby park. He doesn’t ask Dean for help because this is something he feels he needs to do for himself, he needs to prove that even though he can’t figure out the certain things his family chooses to hide from him, he can still learn how to ride a bike. Besides, Dean is always a stickler for Dad’s rules and Sammy can’t risk their dad learning about his secret endeavor. 

At first, Sammy tries getting his balance on the tall seat, tipping sideways multiple times before he can finally remain upright for more than one second at a time. Then, he rolls down the paved pathway while using the tips of his toes to propel himself slowly forward until he is satisfied with his success. Then, Sammy braces himself at the top of a long, sloping hill that eventually evens out near a small collection of tall trees. Taking one last deep breath to sooth his shaky nerves, Sammy pushes forward and starts coasting down the sloping pavement. 

For a while, Sammy is proud of himself for remaining steady for so long without even putting his feet on the ground. He loves the freedom he feels as he sails through the cool air and listens to the soft whir of his tires spinning. No one else is on the trail, so he doesn’t have to worry about swerving to avoid unsuspecting joggers.

But things take a turn for the worst when the path starts to even out. As he loses his momentum the short hill had provided, Sammy realizes he might be too short to even attempt to push the pedals in a full rotation. As panic runs his peace and settles guiltily in his heart, he finds himself drifting closely to the line of trees. With fear sending shock through his bones, Sammy swerves sharply away.

The result is disastrous. The blue bike flies out from under his small body, bouncing awkwardly along the pavement before coming to a stop about ten feet away, the front tire still spinning from its wild ride. Sammy lands on his knees, sliding roughly across the ground as the pavement digs painfully into his skin and likely leaves a mess of debris behind. Sammy comes to a halt and falls back, stretching out his legs in front of him. His jeans are torn at the knees, revealing the bloodied and dirty flesh partially covered by tattered cloth.

It feels like fir is burning across his skin. He’s all alone out here, hurting and scared and ashamed for having failed so badly. He can’t help himself.

Sammy cries.

He sobs in the middle of that path, long after the tire has stopped turning. Tears make his eyes puffy and his vision blurry and his breath hiccups painfully with every broken gasp for air. Oh, how desperately he wants someone to come find him and make the pain go away.

He wishes he had a mom to save him.

But he doesn’t, and no one will even want to come and fix his stupid mistakes.

“Sammy!” A familiar voice calls from just over the hill.

Sammy can’t respond for he is still balling his eyes out. 

“Sammy! You out here?” Dean yells.

He whimpers and chokes a little. “Over here.”

Dean make sit over the peak of the hill and starts sprinting to his little brother, coming to a hasty stop and quickly kneeling down next to him. Sammy turns his face away, trying and failing to hide his shameful tears. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Dean’s hands hovering uncertainly over his brother’s wounds.

“Oh, Sammy, what happened?” Dean asks.

The younger brother sniffs and hiccups, his voice stuttering nervously with every shaky breath. “I-I tried to r-ride the bike t-that Tommy let me use, b-but I couldn’t do it and now h-he’ll hate me y-you and Dad are gonna hate me too!” A fresh wave of tears break free.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Dean assures him and Sammy pauses for a moment. “No ones gonna hate you!”

Sammy shakes his head furiously. “N-n-no! I ruin everything!”

“No you don’t!” Dean shifts a little against the pavement. “We’re gonna get you back to the room and everything will be fine.”

“It hurts.” Sammy admits. “I can’t get up.”

“That’s fine, you’re gonna be fine.” Dean says. He moves to scoop his brother up from the cold ground but Sammy quickly shakes his head.

“The bike!”

“I’ll come back for it later, we gotta take care of you first.”

Sammy sniffs and whimpers but he doesn’t protest as Dean hefts him into his arms, bending his brother’s knees carefully over his elbow so he doesn’t cause any more pain.

After Dean rises from the pavement, they start walking back along the trail, Sammy starting to calm down as his tears begin to dry and the wreckage gets left behind them. His brother’s arms are warm and strong despite his young age. Something about his brother’s presence had always been calming, a safe stronghold that makes Sammy wonder is he appreciates it enough as he should. Being carried by his brother, he knows that nothing bad can happen to him.

“So, what were you doing, kiddo?” Dean asks. They’re about halfway back to the motel, reaching the edge of the park’s trail as Dean adjusts Sammy slightly in his arms.

“All the cool kids ride bikes and I wanna be cool so Tommy let me use his bike.”

After a moment of silence, Dean finally seems to figure out what he wants to say. Sammy looks up at his brother’s face to see a small smile forming across his lips. “You know, I don’t know how to ride a bike.”

Sammy’s eyes widen. “No way!”

“Yes way.” Dean replies with a mocking grim expression now painting his features. “And I’m the coolest of them all.”

Sammy scrunches up his face and settles against Dean’s arms, contemplating how to complete his mission as the pain in his knees fades from the helpful distraction Dean provides.

“You know, though,” Dean continues, smiling at Sammy with that proud smile that means Sammy’s done something good. It makes Sammy’s heart swell with happiness that chases away the shame from before. As he is carefully carried by the safe stronghold that is his brother, Sammy can’t help but smile back. “When you’re all better, we can learn how to ride bikes together.”

Sammy nods vigorously before letting his head falls softly against his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Anytime, Sammy. Anytime.”


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Over the years, Sam learns. 

He learns the truth about his life. He learns that their mother burned in his nursery, sending their father into a revenge-fueled spiral that led to a bloody quest. He learns that, even though his father may save people’s lives and destroy evil creatures, he if definitely not the superhero Dean once claimed him to be, for his travels may have a tint of nobility, but his journey has the final goal of finding and killing what took Sam’s mother.

He learns how to fly under the radar, how to hide himself when necessary. Maybe a year after he confronted Dean about the truth of their father’s possession, Dad sits him down and tells him how monsters and ghosts are real and that he fights him. Sam is able to maintain a mask of calm, a mask that makes him appear strong while in reality, he had spent the past year worrying every time his father left for a hunt, scared out of his mind that his dad wouldn’t return. At school, he tries not to draw too much attention to himself from the students or teachers. He still excels, but he tries not to interact as much as possible, spending his days as an outsider that will eventually skip town for no apparent reason. He learns how to stew in his frustration, how to bury his hopes of living like a normal kid in exchange for a life of secrecy.

He learns how to hunt. The day after Sam officially learns the truth from his dad, he is taken out to the woods and instructed on how to shoot at stationary cans. He starts joining Dean on intense runs in the morning after being woken up at the crack of dawn. He gets introduced to a new training regime and he begins to learn the different aspects of researching and tracking down some sort of creature. He learns to live with the overwhelming sense of dread he gets while sitting in the Impala, all alone while he waits for his dad and Dean to return from a hunt he is not yet allowed to go on. He learns to wait and listen and possibly accept the fact that one day, Dean and Dad may come back with more than treatable wounds.

But no matter how much he learns, no matter how much his big brother teases him about his big brains to match his pissy attitude, Sam doesn’t think he’s learned enough to actually be prepared for his first hunt.

The news gets broken to him while they’re driving between towns in the Impala. Dad is in the driver’s seat, face stern and concentrated on the road as they quickly speed along, the only sign of his currently casual mood being the fact that his thumb is tapping along with the steady rock music that pours out of the radio. He hasn’t spoken since he’d dragged them from their motel room long before the sun had even considered rising in the east. Even when Sam had started grumbling under his breath as they packed up the car and Dean had tried to shush him, their father hadn’t commented on the disobedience, only herded them to the car so they could be halfway across the state by the time the rest of the town had begun to rise. If Sam didn’t know any better, he would say that his dad had actually started out his day in a good mood. Whether or not he would remain in one would depend on the number of arguments Sam got him involved with. 

Dean is sitting in the passenger seat, face peaceful and sporting the slight smirk that always seems to be resting on his face. His right elbow is propped against the window of the Impala, in a position that suggests he wishes the window was rolled down, but he knows it’s too cold outside to even consider it. His hair is still a little damp from his ridiculously fast shower, but he still manages to display his dripping hair with a certain level of grace and charm that is often only typical with movie stars. Though Sam is only starting to get to the age where girls will start making him blush, he has known for a long time that Dean has always been a master at attracting the opposite sex. Sometimes, it amazes him how is occasionally goofy and annoying brother can be so suave when at school.

Sam has learned how to hide as a social outcast known for his intelligence and creativity. He wonders if his brother has learned how to hide behind the façade of a smooth teenager. He wonders if his brother has ever considered something other than the transient interactions he maintains at the schools they go to.

Sam is sitting in the backseat, observant of his family’s body language while still aware of his stewing frustration. He always hates when they have to leave, especially when it’s on short notice. To a certain degree, Sam understands the responsibility that his dad feels to save lives and to hunt down what took their mom, but Sam doesn’t have to like it. Sam wonders how his dad has managed to uphold his anger and need for revenge for nearly twelve years. He just wishes they would settle down somewhere. Then, Sam could finish school in the same town, and eventually graduate so he could move on to college with his family’s pride uplifting him. He wishes his dad would stop ordering Dean into dangerous situations and just let him live like a normal high school student for once. Sam wishes these things, but he knows they are impossible in his dad’s mind.

It has to be a new record. Nearly two hours since they left town, and Sam still hasn’t asked where their headed. Sam knows that Dad is probably praying for the peace and quiet to last, that Dean is likely enjoying his break from refereeing their countless arguments. Though curiosity practically burns his throat with anticipation, Sam decides to give his family these few hours of rest. Instead, he chooses to watch the countryside fly by with his palm cradling his chin, the trees and houses blurring together from the speed of the lonely highway.

About another thirty minutes pass before the steady pattern of rock music is broken, this time, surprisingly, by Dean popping the question. 

“So,” He starts. Dad tilts his chin a little in his direction, not removing his eyes from the road but still acknowledging the rising conversation. Sam lifts his head from his hand, leaning toward the center of the backseat so he can get a glimpse at what’s happening. “Where’re we headed?”

“A hunt,” Their dad replies. He raises his right hand from the wheel and gestures to the side. Sam tries to lean more to get a peek at what he’s pointing at. “Open the glove box, Dean, there are some papers in it.”

Dean moves forward in his seat, popping open the compartment at his dad’s direction and ruffling amongst the various papers and fake IDs until he finds a wrinkled page of a newspaper that he immediately starts looking over. 

“Hand that to your brother.” Their dad orders. Dean’s face scrunches up in confusion, likely matching the confusion Sam is feeling, but he obeys and passes the paper back to Sam. He takes it and tries to ignore the fact that his hands are suddenly trembling. 

He straightens out the paper against his knee in an attempt to get rid of the worst of the wrinkles. Some of the folds are so bad that some of the words are smudged, but Sam is still able to piece together what it says. In the past three months, there had been three campers found dead in the woods. After finishing the article, Sam passes the paper back up to Dean, who gratefully flashes him a smile and scans over the paper fairly quickly. He raises an eyebrow at his dad.

“Seems pretty straight forward,” His brother comments. “What’s the fuss about?”

For once, Sam can see and grin trying to makes its way across his dad’s face. “Sam’s gonna work with us on this one. I think it’s time that he went on his first hunt.”

Sam’s heart skips a beat, swirling in his chest with a mixture of all kinds of emotions. He feels afraid and nervous and anxious because who knows what could happen. But, at the same time, he’s excited and eager because he’s spent years feeling inferior while his family left to hunt, and now his dad finally thinks he’s ready to go to the next level. Sure, he had often helped research and sometimes, he’d even been allowed to sit on the sidelines of an easy hunt where he could watch from afar, but an entirely different thing from actually participating in the hunt.

Dean’s eyebrows raise in disbelief and Sam can’t help but feel a little disappointed at his brother’s reaction. “You want him to go on a hunt? He’s not ready.”

His heart falls. While he knows that Dean is always thinking about what’s best for him, he can’t help but feel a little betrayed that Dean still thinks he can’t hunt. Sam’s more than proved himself in his training, so why shouldn’t he get a chance to work in the field?

“C’mon Dean!” Sam protests. “That’s not fair! I work just as hard as you and you were allowed to hunt younger than I am!”

“That’s not the point, Sammy!” Dean practically growls, rolling his eyes. “That’s totally different."

“It’s Sam,” He snaps. “And how, Dean?”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Their dad intercedes. He looks sharply to Dean. “Sam’s coming with us and that’s final.”

Sam can see Dean’s jaw tense firmly as he obviously fights between his loyalty to Dad and his loyalty to protecting Sam. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Dad says and that’s the end of their debate. He returns his focus to the road, Dean returns forlornly to watching out the window, and Sam leans back in his seat, not sure if his excitement will let him settle down again.

They drive almost the entire day, rolling over empty highways and passing through some bright cities and dirty towns. They no longer speak, the music taking the place of any conversation. Dad taps patiently at the wheel and Dean has actually slumped against the window and fallen asleep, his earlier protests currently buried. Sam is constantly shifting in the backseat, moving his legs and switching the arm he leans on when the other starts to tingle. He doesn’t pester his dad about the hunt. He knows that as soon as they get a night of sleep at their next stop, Dad will have him drowning in lore books until they find the correct creature.

They finally stop at a small motel on the edge of their town that their Dad pays for in unquestionable cash. Sam wakes Dean up and they load their stuff into the room, placing their bags in a neat pile by the door. Dean is still groggy from the car ride but he wakes up enough to make sure Sam gets ready for bed while their dad salts the windows and door. There are only two beds, so their dad claims one and Sam and Dean are too tired to even bother with fighting for the other one, they just agree to share the bed and if one happens to kick the other or steal the covers in the night, there will be hell to pay in the morning.

When Dean and his dad have both quieted down and fallen into the deep throes of sleep, Sam lies awake, practically shaking from fear and excitement as he waits for his exhaustion to finally lull him to sleep. 

Over the next few days, Sam is determined to impress both members of his family.

Dean is still hesitant to let Sam hunt, caught halfway between understanding Sam’s desire to participate and succumbing to his brotherly instinct that won’t let Sam near hunting with a ten foot pole. Sam gets that Dean wants Sam to stay safe, he really does, but Dean’s overprotectiveness has long since passed irritating and gone straight into infuriating. Sam’s fed up with Dean’s hypocrisy and is just determined to prove his brother wrong. 

Their dad is hanging back, interfering enough to give Sam some direction, but also letting them loose enough so Sam has the freedom to learn the process and still make decisions. Sam would appreciate this action more if he didn’t feel as if his father is constantly breathing down his neck, ready to pounce on any error. 

As their father had declared that they wouldn’t be in this town long enough for education, they aren’t enrolled in school and are therefore free to walk to the library every day and research. Dean flirts with the high school volunteers as he retrieves the newspapers they need, leaving Sam to collect all of the books they could possibly desire on abstract lore and stack them all in a quiet corner of the library. They sit together at that table when Dean takes a break, brainstorming and occasionally arguing as they flip through pages and write down notes. Every few hours, they call Dad from the phone booth outside and he listens to them report their findings, shooting down some of their ideas and instructing them on where to look next. He ends their cheery phone call with a reminder that people’s lives depend on their accuracy, always leaving Sam and Dean feeling a bit rushed, Sam more so than the experienced Dean.

After two days, they finally come to the conclusion that what they are hunting is a werewolf. Every kill had been on the night of a full moon and, with a fake ID in hand, their dad had learned that all three of the victims were missing their hearts along with most of their innards. The next full moon is scheduled to occur that night, so the Winchesters spend the day planning for the big hunt.

John probably goes over every detail with Sam at least a thousand times, having him recite the weaknesses of werewolves over and over again until Sam is sure that he’ll go to sleep with dreams of silver bullets dancing in his head. He shows his dad how he unloads and reloads his gun until he can practically do it with his eyes closed. He tells him the plan again and again, how they’ll go through the woods and catch the creature before it can even consider harming another person. He recites how he’ll go back to the car and wait for them if he gets separated from Dean. He does everything his dad asks him too, ending up exhausted when John finally looks satisfied and leaves to make sure their supplies are in the Impala. When Sam turns around, he finds Dean sitting casually at the table, legs crossed and a broad grin on his face.

Sam scowls. “What’s so funny?”

Dean sighs wistfully. “Ah, I don’t miss the days when he used to do that with me.” He rises, stretching his arms above his head before he ruffles Sam’s hair playfully. “Don’t worry, you’ll be just fine, so long as you follow your big brother!”

Sam frowns. “Yeah, sure, Dean.” He makes his way out to the car and sits grumpily in the backseat, his arms crossed as he tries to ignore the nervous jitters making their way to his fingers. Dad and Dean soon join him in the car and they’re off, driving away to confront Sam’s first monster.

They park at the edge of the forest, their dad pulling into a spot that’s out of sight from the road. They quietly prepare their things from the trunk, checking their guns and packing their pockets with extra ammo. Their dad slams the back closed, gun in hand as he leads them silently into the night, the moon beaming ominously down on them. Sam’s palms feel sweaty and slick on the handle of his gun, the anxiety and excitement all manifesting itself in this rotten feeling ball that’s stuck in his chest. Dean looks more serious now that they’re actually starting the hunt, but he must notice Sam’s mood for he shoots him a reassuring smile before falling in line behind Sam and their dad, the two older Winchesters sandwiching the youngest between them. At his brother’s glance, Sam feels a bit better but the uneasiness remains.

The three of them trek quietly through the woods, only interrupted by the rustling of moving birds and the snap of twigs beneath their feet. Sam almost expects to hear a cliché howl like the ones he’s heard in old monster movies as a kid, but none come. Their father leads the way, confident shoulders broad and proud against the light of the full moon. Sam wonders if he can one day be as good of a hunter as his father and brother are. 

Suddenly, their father holds up a hand, halting the two brothers in their tracks. He looks around slowly, eyes visibly narrowing. Sam wants to ask what the big fuss is about when he hears it, a low growl piercing through the brush, the leaves of the forest cracking and rustling. Sam’s heart starts beating rapidly in his chest, reminding him grimly of the victims whose hearts had been torn violently from their chests. 

Just as soon as Sam finishes his thought, the leaves shake from a great movement and the creature leaps from its position in the bushes. John turns quickly and shoots but the werewolf has already moved, rushing through the brush and running toward them from further ahead. Though John is in front of him, Sam can still see the werewolf sprinting at them, eyes narrowed, sharp teeth glinting, and long claws illuminated by the moonlight. Sam does the worst thing possible, but he can’t help himself.

He freezes.

The ultimate fear, the rush of adrenaline and emotions that flood him at that very moment are not things he could have possibly prepared for. No matter how much his brain tells him to run, screams at him to leap to the side, he can’t. His body is paralyzed, but his damn hands still shake around his gun.

John aims and fires again, catching the shrieking beast in the shoulder, a wounding but non-lethal shot that only angers the creature. He yells over the growling of the werewolf. “Dean, spread out!”

As soon as the words have left his lips, Sam can feel Dean’s strong hand grasping his shoulder tightly and pulling him to the side, almost dragging him behind if Sam hadn’t finally regained control of his legs. They run off to the right, Dean swinging around the trees and trying to get a better angle in which to shoot at the werewolf. Suddenly, Sam doesn’t mind being a tagalong anymore, even if it means missing out on the action. He can’t possibly imagine how Dean had managed to handle this at this age.

Their dad starts running off in the opposite direction, leading the creature away from the boys and through the trees, As they move further and further away, Sam knows that Dean is about to chase after them until another little disaster strikes. A second one. 

This one leaps out from the side, blocking their path to their dad and forcing them in the opposite direction. Dean tries to fire at it as he is turning, but his priorities clearly remain elsewhere as he looks over Sam, eyes serious as he grabs his brother’s arm once more. “Run!”

They take off together, sprinting heavily over tree stumps and roots in a way that makes Sam grateful for the hellish training they frequently suffer through. Dean never lets go of Sam’s arm, even if that means dodging precariously around trees. Sam can almost pretend that they aren’t running for their lives and that they’re just going through another training exercise that will have no more punishment than a multitude of push-ups. Sam wonders if Dean had been right, if maybe he was too young for this horror.

Before Sam can continue to question his life choices, the werewolf slams into his back, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him sailing into the air. Dean screams his name, even louder than the werewolf’s growling but Sam is gone with the breeze, flying miraculously between trees as the wind rushes around his ears. Even if, just for those brief few seconds, Sam doesn’t feel scared, his landing ignite a whole new level of feeling.

As he falls to the ground, his right leg gets caught awkwardly beneath his body and as his full weight collapses, he hears the awful snap of bone in his leg and feels the pain a second later. It floods his being, turning his vision red and convincing him that liquid fire has been injected into his veins. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can only scream at the forest and pray that it takes the pain away. Distantly, he registers Dean calling his name but at the moment, all he knows is his leg wants to be removed from his body.

The red starts to fade from his vision, his leg throbbing horribly but now permitting him to see. He doesn’t look down at his leg for fear of throwing up, but he does try and focus in the direction of his brother, leaning carefully on his elbow, his gun still amazingly clutched in his hand. 

Dean looks like he’s in trouble. With a vicious swipe, the werewolf catches him across the stomach and sends him lurching backwards. Sam’s heart almost stops when he watches his brother slam against the trunk of a nearby tree, clearly dazed as the menacing monster approaches. Sam feels that horrible panic again, making his blood pump and his leg throb with agonizing fire. He doesn’t know what to do. His brother is about to die a bloody death and Sam can’t even get up to help him. Instead, he grasps wildly for a nearby rock and chucks it at the werewolf. The little stone hits its mark dead on, bouncing off of its head and successfully pulling its attention away from his dizzy brother.

Now, the creature has turned to him, howling angrily and bounding toward him with no mercy in its dark eyes. Sam wonders how something can look so human yet be so monstrous. If not for the fangs and claws and vacant eyes, this person would be normal and have a life that might not even include viciously mauling campers and eating their hearts. Sam tries to put the idea of its humanity away, because right now, he has to act quickly to save himself.

As the beast gets closer and closer, Sam gulps down his fear and pain and raises his arm. With an aim steadier than he has been all week, Sam fires the gun and hits the werewolf straight through the heart.

The creature falls immediately, letting out one last painful whine before it slides to a stop on the forest floor. The woods are silent, filled with no more howls and screams. Briefly, Sam hopes that his dad was able to subdue his own werewolf, because Sam is spent just handling this one. His crooked leg throbs in time with his pulsing heart, sending waves of fire throughout his body with every beat. He lays back against the dirt, energy now focused sleeping through the pain. For a minute, or two minutes, or maybe even thirty minutes, Sam stays on the ground, hovering in a semi-conscious state that leaves him exhausted and not relieved of any agony. He stares at the starry sky from between the branches above him, admiring the sliver of the shining moon that he can see through the trees. He fades in and out, his visions moving in and out with the throbbing of his leg.

Somehow, Dean slides his way into Sam’s line of sight without him noticing, his brother’s pale face displaying a shade similar to the moon. His mouth is moving, but for the life of him Sam can’t focus on what he’s saying. He manages to catch something about his leg, but Sam already knows about his leg so he lets the comment slide from his mind, leaving him back in that slippery state.

Sam is snapped back to reality when his leg is snapped back in place.

He screams bloody murder, his torso rising from the ground in protest as the world slides into place painfully. He watches in horror as Dean finishes adjusting his right leg, bracing it with two long pieces of wood and the shoelaces from Sam’s boots. Dean’s face is pulled into a grimace as he ties the laces off snuggly, almost as if he is sensing Sam’s level of pain. He looks up at Sam, pale face showing a few scratches and his jacket zipped up against the cold but his form otherwise appearing to be alright. 

Dean moves closer to Sam, shifting away from his messed-up leg and closer to Sam’s head. The pain is making him dizzy, but Sam still manages to grin up at Dean. “I killed it.”

“Yes, you did,” Dean says, his face tight with frustration. “You shouldn’t have had to, but you did. Good job.”

The small bit of pride that escapes from Dean’s words floods Sam’s chest with happiness. “Thanks, it broke ma leg, though.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, it did. But don’t worry, I’ll get us back to Dad and you’ll get fixed up all good and new.”

Sam nods his agreement and soon Dean is moving his arms around Sam’s torso and under his knees, lifting him as gently as possible, even though that still means jarring Sam’s bones and making him whimper. Dean mutters his sincere thanks before slowly starting to march them back to the car. Sam lets his head slump against Dean, his eyes half-lidded as he tries to ignore his leg. It’s cold outside, but Dean feels warm and comforting in contrast to the icy fire that swarms his broken bone. Sam wonders how long it’s been since Dean has carried him like this. It makes him feel like a little kid again, but not in that annoying way when he was looked down upon as a lesser being. No, it’s the feeling of love and care and attention that Sam sometimes longs for. It’s the feeling he would get when he would get to watch cartoons all day if he gave Dean the puppy dog eyes. It’s the feeling of childhood that threatens to melt his heart and bring tears to his eyes because even if he’s stubborn and refuses to admit it, he misses the constant reassurance of love he would always get when Dean carried him.

Sam is so caught up in reminiscing that he barely realizes when their march has slowed down, decreasing to a pace that doesn’t betray any of the current urgency of their current situation. He looks up lazily at his brother’s face and is surprised to see it so drawn and pale, his eyes looking exhausted and his mouth pulled in a grim line. Sam would have never expected to see this face on his brother, especially when he feels how tight his grip his around his torso yet gently strong near his broken leg.

“Dean?” Sam asks cautiously. 

Dean’s eyes shift to Sam’s face and a slow smile pulls at his lips. “What’s up, Sammy?”

“Are you okay?”

His brother scoffs and doesn’t answer the question. “Huh, says the guy with the broken leg.”

“Dean,” Sam narrows his eyes, his leg threatening to pull him away from reality again. “I’m serious.”

He laughs a little. “Don’t worry, Sammy, it’ll all be okay soon.”

That doesn’t really comfort him, but that’s the best he’s going to get from his stubborn brother. 

They continue in silence, Dean comforting Sam every time the pain gets too bad and he lets out a whimper. Sam tries to ignore the wheeze in his brother’s breath and the fact that he can feel him shiver through his zipped jacket, the coat feeling as if it’s growing wetter and wetter with each second. Sam wonders if their luck has made a single rain cloud pour down on him, but he doesn’t feel rain anywhere else so he writes it off as delusion. 

Thankfully, they come to the car soon enough. Dean slowly opens the door to the backseat and helps Sam lay down inside with his torso propped up against the driver side window and his leg laid out before him. The process is excruciating and even closing the door softly does nothing to ease the pain, but they’re back and all Sam can think about is how close they are to being safe and sound, if only their dad would hurry up.

“Dean,” Sam croaks, rolling his head against the glass to look at his brother sitting in the passenger seat. “When do you think Dad will get back?”

Surprisingly, Dean’s voice is very soft when he replies. “I dunno. Soon, hopefully.” 

Sam furrows his eyebrows at his brother’s quiet tone. He cranes his neck as much as he can without jostling his leg, trying to get a glimpse at Dean.

His brother is slouched in the front seat, his jacket unzipped and pulled off to the side. His shirt has been peeled away from his skin, too, revealing a gruesome sight. Three long claws marks are gouged across his stomach, deep enough to let blood leak slowly but steadily from the wounds. Sam’s heart pulses again, and his leg pulses with him. The damp sensation from their long walk is starting to make a horrible kind of sense. 

“Dean!” Sam calls out in concern. “Those look pretty bad.”

Dean considers them for a second before giving Sam a loopy grin. “Nah, you just worry about your leg.”

Sam is certain that his expression looks horrified because Dean actually laughs at him before wincing from the movement it causes. He slowly lowers his shirt back over the claw marks, pressing down on them as much as he dares in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Dean looks out the window and he must see their dad approaching because he takes a deep breath, zips his jacket back up while pressing his arm against his waist, and gets out to greet him. They talk outside for a few minutes, for Sam can hear their low voices but can’t make out what they’re saying, before they both get back inside the car, John checking over Sam with concern as he passes Dean a relatively clean cloth to press against the gashes. Sam drifts off wondering how his brother and father can possibly stand doing this on a regular basis.

Later, Sam sits on the couch in the motel room, his leg covered in a white cast and propped up on a mountain of pillows, painkillers laid out on the short table beside him. John is currently out at the forest burning the bodies of the werewolves they killed, covering up the evidence before they can move on. Sam is watching cartoons with mild interest, his attention caught every now and then by the sleeping form of his brother next to him, his torso bandaged heavily and his head thrown back carelessly against the arm of the couch. He twitches every now and then, face scrunching together every time he shifts against the worn pillows.

Sam watches over his brother as he sleeps, determined to return this one favor. Whenever his brother stirs, his eyes lift blearily to Sam’s face, flickering quickly down to his leg and back again.

“You good, Sammy?” He asks, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam replies, smiling as the cartoons continue to play and his brother stays just the same. “I’m good.”


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Sam doesn’t like to think that Dean failed, because he didn’t, not in any sense of the word. He did all he could and gave everything he had and Sam knows and appreciates that in such a deep way that he knows he will never be able to explain to his brother. But it doesn’t matter how many high praises Sam has for his brother because Dean will do what Dean has always done and he’ll blame himself anyways, even if Sam happened to be there to console him.

Sam can’t exactly say he witnessed the event that led to Dean’s deeper descent into self-doubt, but he sure can provide evidence from the past to clear his brother’s name. Dean’s never failed him before, and he sure as hell wouldn’t do so now.

Sam knows this without actually being there. Well, technically, he was there, though he was not aware. Some would argue that his mind and spirit were gone while his mortal body remained on earth. Others might even say that his soul had still been wandering around, waiting for eternity to be over. But none of these points matter because Sam can’t remember what happened. Not one bit.

Because Sam was dead. 

The whole experience was muddled in a confusing way from the pain as his mind drifted away from existence. Truly, he can’t remember much of his death. He remembers the knife, the sharp agony as the blade had pierced his skin and dug deep into his flesh and bone, slicing and ripping until it had been twisted to the side and been torn away just as quickly as it had entered. He remembers feeling so damn tired, his eyes rolling around loosely in his fuzzy head while his eyelids had tried to decide whether or not they wanted to stay open.

It’s a strange feeling, dying is. Feeling the world slipping away like ink running down a page is about as fun as it seems. He was too tired to even care that everything was falling, too tired to even wonder if this was the end, too tired to wonder if he would see Mom or Dad or Jess once he was gone.

He remembers hearing Dean calling brokenly to him, hands frantically moving from his face to his hair to back until the process had repeated. His brother had spoken soft reassurances, trying desperately to ground Sam with some confidence and a half-hearted smile. 

But nothing helps, not even his strong brother Dean trying to keep him alive. Sam was already gone, gone, gone and no amount of pleading could keep him from bleeding out on the dirty ground.

Weeks after his death, when he’s alive and well again except for the fact that his older brother’s doomed to go to the pit, Sam sits with Bobby in the older man’s living room. The brothers are currently between hunts on the action-packed mission Dean seems to have taken since his death sentence, his ultimate goal to kill as many monsters as he can with as little regard as possible for his well-being. While Dean is out fetching more food and alcohol, Sam’s taking his chance to secretly load up the Impala with more lore that could save his brother.

Their job finished for the time being, Sam and Bobby sit back in their creaky old chairs. Beer bottles are clutched in their hands, the empty bottles sitting off to the side in neat little groups. Sam’s pleasantly buzzed, enough beer in him to make him feel nice and warm but not enough to erase his mind and induce a headache from hell. Bobby looks like he’s experiencing the same feeling, for the lines of stress have disappeared from his face and his tired eyes are alert and ready. They’re both buzzed enough to be open to any conversation topic, which makes Sam glad that Dean is currently out.

It’s probably their compromised positions that lead to Sam reflecting on his death and his brother’s stupid decision. It’s probably that position that keeps him from realizing that he’s thinking out loud until he spots Bobby’s solemn face from across the room.

“Do you know what happened after you died?” Bobby asks. His voice isn’t judgmental or forceful, just prepared to state some facts for an uninformed mind. 

Sam shakes his head. Dean had absolutely refused to talk about what happened when Sam died, so Sam had eventually dropped the subject.

“Well,” The older man starts, adjusting in his creaky chair and taking a long sip of beer as he leans forward. “After you was stabbed, your brother stayed back to help ya and I ran ahead to try and catch that Jake kid. He got away so I had to head back and find you and your brother.”

He pauses again and a drinks some more. Sam lets him take his time and doesn’t comment as Bobby’s eyes flicker around the room, looking at everything but Sam.

“Well, when I got close and your brother wasn’t too far away, I knew somethin’ wasn’t right. Sure, you’d been hurt bad before I ran off, but I just knew it was real bad when I got close.”

“How’d you know?” Sam asks softly.

Bobby sighs. “Dean had ya in his arms real tight, Sam. You was still kneelin’ and Dean was in front of ya doin’ the same. I could tell he was the only thing holdin’ you up an’ he was rockin’ back an’ forth with ya. ‘Course, I was scared but I didn’t know for sure ‘til I was practically behind you.” Bobby swallows, but he doesn’t drink any more beer this time, he just gulps down lumps of air. “When I was right there, that’s when I could see Dean was cryin’ with one of his hands still coverin’ that damn wound on your back. That’s when I knew you was gone.”

Sam doesn’t speak because he doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know if there really is anything to say that would even help. Sam had known it hadn’t been pretty, and he can’t possibly fathom how horrible it had been for Dean to hold him as he died, but it’s still difficult for him to imagine what Bobby’s told him. Dean had always been the anchor in his life, the one constant Sam could depend on when they jumped from town to town with their dad’s presence being transient at best. Sam could probably count the number of times Dean had cried on one hand. The fact that Bobby had found Dean crying over his corpse, while it was a little comforting on some level, was heartbreaking. Against his will, Sam’s eyes start to water and he wishes he could blame it on the booze.

“Then what?” Sam manages to croak out.

“I told him we had to get out of that God-awful place so he just scooped you up and started walkin’. The tears were gone and his face was so empty and I didn’t know what to do so I just let him carry you. Even if I’d offered to help, I knew he wouldn’t let me. It isn’t in his nature to let someone else carry off his baby brother.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “It sure isn’t.”

Bobby drinks again. “I swear to God that I’ve never seen that boy look so lost before in my entire life. He held ya tight ‘til you was in that bed, then he just stood there and stared for hours. Didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, just watched over ya. Finally snapped at me to get out so I let him be.” Bobby looks to the ceiling with lost eyes. “I should have known he was gonna do somethin’ stupid.” Bobby drags a heavy hand down his face. “Bunch of idjits, the both of ya.”

“You couldn’t have known, Bobby.” Sam consoles. His chest feels like a ten ton weight was shoved in him and he wonders if there’s enough beer in the world to solve this.

Bobby drifts into a blissful state of drunkenness, letting the alcohol wash away all of his worries from the past few weeks. “He’s always watched over ya, Sam. Always got you even when ya don’t know it.”

“I know, Bobby.” Sam says, his vision blurred and his throat feeling like he’s being choked. “I know.”

They keep talking, going through beer after beer until the world spins around Sam’s head and Bobby’s words float in his brain. Sam just can’t get the image out of his mind of Dean’s painfully blank expression and hunched shoulders as he silently carries Sam’s corpse to the end of the world.

They’re both slumped in their chairs when Sam hears the low rumble of the Impala’s engine pulling up to the house. Sam is too tired to get up and greet Dean, and he isn’t even sure he’d be able to walk if he had the energy to. Bobby’s passed out in his chair, head tilted back and mouth hanging open to let out his loud snores. The door slams open and shut, the noise not even managing to stir Bobby. Sam can’t find it in his to open his eyes more when he hears the rustling of grocery bags and the gentle clink of bottles in the kitchen. Dean’s footsteps are heavy and creak across the floor as he approaches the two drunk men. Sam can barely see his brother’s dirty boots in his peripheral vision.

Dean’s soft chuckling finally motivates Sam enough to look up. His older brother grins down at him, an eyebrow raised and hands on his hips. 

“Well, well, well!” Dean proclaims. Across the room, Bobby shifts in his chair but doesn’t awaken. “I guess I missed all the fun, fellas!”

Sam lets his head roll to the side. “So fun.” He mutters in agreement. Even to his woozy mind, he knows that his words sound funny because his mouth feels funny and loose. He guesses everything is funny right now because he’s drifting in a peaceful realm at the moment.

Right now, Sam’s okay with feeling a little funny because in the morning, he’ll have a killer headache along with the heavy weight he always feels when thinking about solving Dean’s deal. Right now, Sam doesn’t have to think about dying brothers and blank expressions and the dreadful feeling of inevitable death.

Dean laughs again and leans down to help Sam stand up from the chair, slinging the younger Winchester’s arm across his shoulders. Sam helps with mild interest, his attention grabbed by a tiny spider crawling along the edge of a fraying rug back to its web.

“Hey, Sammy. I’m gonna get you up to bed, okay?” Dean says, guiding them both to the stairs. 

Sam flings his weight back toward the living room, pointing lazily with an unsteady arm as Dean grunts from exertion. “Bobby?”

He feels Dean shake his head. “I’ll get to Bobby soon. Let’s get you taken care of first.”

“Hm.” Sam starts but he doesn’t continue. Oh, Dean and his priorities. Even with Sam uninjured and completely drunk, Dean’s still willing to carry Sam’s weight across his shoulders and drag his lazy ass upstairs. Always carrying, carrying, carrying his brother. Sam wonders if he’ll ever be able to thank Dean properly for all he’s done.

“Dean,” He says, the world all swirly again. “Thanks for everything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean grumbles. Sam thinks that Dean doesn’t understand Sam is trying to thank him for every single moment he’s been by his side, not just this particular incident in which he’s putting a drunk Sam to bed. Then again, being thankful while drunk isn’t exactly something that people tend to take seriously, especially when the other half of the party is emotionally constipated. “Just use your legs a little, okay? You can’t expect me to carry your lazy ass all the time!”

Sam smiles and figures that’s the least he can do.


	5. Chapter 5

V.

It takes many more years for Sam to finally get the chance to repay Dean and when the time comes, he wishes it hadn’t.

Time passes by, not in a quick and nostalgic way, but in an agonizingly slow and painful way that makes Sam amazed that they ever survived. Dean dies and Sam’s world becomes an existence driven by revenge and an insatiable thirst for blood. Then Dean’s back and Sam’s life is a struggle between his new methods and his broken brother. He gets lost and then he’s found again and he falls down to a place where Dean can’t rescue him from. But, once again he defies all odds and lives once more by his brother’s side. They fight amongst themselves almost as much as they fight monsters but there’s a level of trust and care that Sam’s grateful for. They gain allies and friends almost as often as they gain enemies but Sam is just happy they still have each other.

Their experiences never cease to amaze Sam. Sure, there’s a certain amount of familiarity and expertise that comes from how long they’ve been hunting, but there are always things that manage to catch them off guard. Even if it feels like they’ve been doing the same things over and over again, there are always cases that are just unique enough to catch the two brothers off guard. 

Sometimes, Sam can’t help but worry about what’s to come in their futures. They’ve already been through both heaven and hell, literally, and Sam wonders if there is an end to the madness that is their lives, if there’s a light at the end of a tunnel that seems to go on forever. Dean’s always been cynical about this subject, insisting that there’s no way out, no way to escape to a normal life. Sam has always remained more hopeful, has always thought that maybe, just maybe, they could one day retire and live out the rest of their days in peace. Maybe, they could learn to leave behind their crazy adventures and let someone else carry the weight of the world for once. 

They’ve had a slow week, no monsters to track down, no impending end-of-the-world disaster to fix. Instead, the brothers have spent the last few days driving around the countryside, watching the land fly by as Dean blasts music out the open windows. With the way they live their lives, a day, especially a week, where they catch a break is extremely rare. Sam is willing to bet that it’s been years since they’ve had thing long between jobs. Sam feels content, he feels satisfied to know that even after everything they have seen and done, they can still get a few moments of peace. Even the restless Dean has settled into this new calm that they are experiencing. Sam’s happy to say that the tension in his brother’s shoulders has started to melt away with each mile they drive on their mini road trip.

It's at a small diner somewhere in the Midwest where all of their peace comes to an end and their way of life decides to rear its ugly head once more.

Sam’s slowly working his way through a salad while Dean is decimating his burger at inhuman speeds, his attention partially occupied by the laptop open on the table. Dean’s busy frowning at the screen, so Sam knows that he’s going to speak up with his findings sooner or later, likely bearing news that will spoil Sam’s day.

“So,” Dean starts after swallowing a gigantic bite. “I think I’ve found us a case.”

Of course. Just as they’re both learning how to relax, Dean’s eager to get moving again. “Really, Dean?”

Dean flashes him a look of feigned innocence and raises his arms in self-defense. “What! We’ve been out of work for a while now! Don’t you think it’s time we got back in the game?”

No, actually, that’s the exact opposite of what Sam wants but he keeps his mouth sealed, frowns, and lets out a sigh. “What’s the rush? We’ve been fine not working any cases.”

“C’mon, Sam.” Dean complains. His plate is now pushed off to the side, the laptop now the centerpiece of the table. “I’m getting restless, man. I need to be out there.”

Often, Sam wishes their lives weren’t like this. He wishes they weren’t raised to forget about their own well-beings for the sake of others. It’s just not fair that they are the ones who have to throw their lives away, that they’re the ones who have been programmed to hunt and save lives, altered to the point that they even depend on their way of life to keep them sane, to keep them moving. Sure, Sam’s come to accept it over the years, hell, he’s sometimes even managed to embrace it. But still, there are always moment when Sam longs for something else, longs for a life where they don’t have to sacrifice so much to survive. 

“Fine,” Sam finally concedes. “Whatcha got?” 

Dean smirks at him smugly before he spins the laptop around to face Sam. A few tabs are pulled up, all of them online articles. “Over the past month, there have been three suicides. All of them have been completely unsuspecting teenagers who’ve jumped off the top of an old tower just outside of the town.”

Sam frowns. “Possession?”

Dean shrugs. “Could be. Could also be nothing, but it’s worth checking out.”

Sam drags a heavy hand down his face. “Yeah, let’s go.”

His brother grins at him, slamming the laptop shut. He tosses a couple of bills on the tables and slides out of his side of the booth. Sam follows him outside to the Impala, rolling his eyes when Dean winks at their waitress.

The drive is only a couple of hours long, but Sam’s okay with spending it without speaking. He takes this opportunity to get lost in thought. Yet another case that drives them to another state, to another town where they’ll work their magic and leave before things get out of hand. Dean’s admitted to being tired of the job before, often in broken ways that pick at Sam’s conscience. Sam doesn’t know if Dean still feels that way about the job but it still troubles him that Dean is willing to keep pushing and pushing until he’s close to breaking. Sam can only hope he can help slow the process. This job has taken so much from them, yet they’re always ready to keep performing, no matter the cost.

Dean blasts music from the stereo and taps his thumbs against the wheel to the beat. Eventually, Sam pulls out the laptop and browses though the files Dean had saved on the case. As far as Sam can tell, they’re either dealing with some form of possession, a vengeful spirit of some kind, or a crazy combination of both. Any way it goes, there’s an uneasy churning in his gut, an unsteady instinct begging him to get the hell out of there. Sam can’t help but feel nervous about this job.

Despite his gut feeling telling him to run in the opposite direction, Sam can’t help but feel content as they drive to this case. Even though Sam still maintains a steady dislike for their line of work, it’s these quiet moments with his brother that remind him of why he does it. He will always cherish his brother’s company, even if it’s company spent hunting monsters. With them having each other’s backs, Sam can honestly say he’s glad and willing to save lives with his brother at his side.

Soon, they’re checking into a small motel on the edge of town, only a few miles away from the ominous tower.

They spend the next few days collecting the information they need. They interview the families of the victims under the guises of guidance counselors and learn about the lovely lives all of the teenagers had lived. The police claim there was no connection between the three, but the heartbroken younger sister of the most recent victim claims they all went to the tower on dares from a group of friends at school.

Before they finish up their research, Sam and Dean make a short trip to the tower to scope out their surroundings. It’s at least 150 feet tall, made of old stones that peak at a slanted roof. At the bottom, the brothers find a gruesome patch of red in the grass where all three of the victims’ heads had gone splat. Authorities had tried to wash away all of the blood and gore, but a stain is still left behind that makes Sam wrinkle his nose and avoid looking at it at all costs.

In order to get to the top, the kids had climbed stairs inside of the tower, reached a room at the top, and had then climbed out of an old window. Sam and Dean check the old room out. It’s clearly been abandoned for years, with dust covering a chewed-up mattress, torn papers everywhere, and a few paintings leaning against the walls.

That night they finish up their theories in the motel room. They confirm the fact that they’re hunting the spirit of the original tower owner’s son. As a teenager, his father had pushed him out of the window and made his death look like suicide. In his afterlife, the son was exacting his revenge by doing the same to anyone who wandered into the tower. Unfortunately, the teenager’s body had been cremated so Sam’s hoping they can find something the spirit’s attached to in the tower.

The uneasiness returns to Sam’s stomach as they’re loading up the car. He wishes he could shake it off but it’s a little frightening how persistent this gut feeling is turning out to be. It’s been many years since Sam’s had any visions, but he’s definitely learned to trust his instinct since then. As an attempt to calm his nerves, Sam brings up the subject with Dean.

“Dean,” He starts off. He’d loaded their sawed offs with rock salt back in the room and is now putting them in the trunk. “Are you sure we should do this?”

Dean, who’s tossing their duffle bags in the back, pauses to give Sam an incredulous look. “Seriously, Sam? This’ll be fine, Sammy, we’ve definitely handled worse.”

Sam bites his lip to keep from responding. The churning in his gut is still there, but Sam pushes it to the back of his mind where it turns and boils. He gets in the passenger side without saying another word, Dean soon joining him in the car and driving them off to the tower.

When they make it to the grassy base, there’s already a small truck parked there. Up at the top, Sam can make out a lantern’s dim glow inside of the cracked window.

Dean frowns as he turns off the car. “Well, that’s not good.”

Sam snorts and nods in agreement. He and Dean get out, fetch their things from the trunk, and quickly make their way to the start of the stairs. 

It’s cold and quiet in the tower, eerily reminding Sam of a tomb. It’s so dark in there that Sam’s sure he would have tripped already if not for their flashlights. He can’t hear anything except their footsteps, Dean’s heavy breathing, and the occasional shriek of laughter that comes from the top room.

The stillness of the tower is suddenly broken when a sharp scream erupts from the top. Sam barely has the time to glance at Dean before they’re both sprinting to the top, crumbling steps and darkness be damned.

The light Sam had seen from the bottom is coming from an LED lantern sitting on the floor next to the ruined mattress. Two guys stand at the opposite end of the room, clutching each other for dear life as they shake and shiver with fear. Approaching them slowly across the dusty floor is their spirit of the hour. Covered in dirt, clothes tattered, and a bloody head wound, the mere sight of the bloody spirit is enough to encourage the return of his apprehension and he wants to run away and drag Dean with him. But there are two idiot teenagers there who need help so Sam can’t waste any more time lingering over his fears.

Dean jumps in immediately, making the spirit disappear with a blast of rock salt. As he starts to search the room for the item they need to burn, Sam directs the two teens to the door and tells them to get the hell out of there. They don’t need to be told twice and they’re sprinting down the stairs at the speed of light as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

Sam helps Dean turn the room inside out, the spirit momentarily gone. They’re working on flipping the mattress when Dean yells at Sam. He spins around and the spirit is there, face furious and hands outstretched toward Sam. Quickly, Sam fires off a shot right in the spirit’s face.

They finish with the mattress fairly quickly so Dean moves to the small expanse of floor behind it while Sam shuffles through the papers by the window. He uncovers a tarnished silver locket and grins because if this isn’t it, Sam is willing to just burn down the whole tower.

“Sammy! Look out!”

Sam turns, his grin sliding away as he sees the spirit approaching him, much faster this time with his arms raised and poised to kill. There’s no way Sam can get out of the way in time so he gulps and braces himself for impact.

But, as always, Sam has failed to plan for that random factor that is his brother. That on factor that never fails to swoop in and carry Sam away. That one factor that saw danger before Sam was even aware. That one factor that is willing to do whatever it takes to save his little brother, no matter the cost.

Many times over the years, Sam has wondered if Dean even has a self-preservation instinct. Time and time again, his brother has proven that he has little regard for his well-being, especially when Sam happens to be involved. His determination to keep his younger brother alive has already led to horrible consequences, but Sam has always wondered when those consequences would become irreversible. 

A tremendous force knocks Sam to the side, knocking the wind out of him and shoving him out of harm’s way. Now that Sam’s horizontal and his chest hurts from the push, Sam can’t see where the spirit ended up. But, he does look up in time to see the spirit making contact with Dean, throwing him right through the window. 

It’s a strange thing to experience, even after Sam has seen death so many times before. Time seems to slow and everything else seems to stop until it’s just him, Dean, and 150 feet to the ground. He can hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears and the sharp clarity of glass shattering as Dean breaks through the window.

Sam looks at Dean’s face. Sam himself is quickly beginning to panic and feel the horrible grasp of fear because Dean is so far away and Sam won’t be able to reach him but Dean’s expression is different. He’s strangely calm, this sort of chilling acceptance shining in his eyes that makes Sam tear up and sends shivers down his spine. 

There are no more miracles, no more changes in fate that can stop this. Sam can’t even reach his eerily calm brother in time to even brush against his ankle. In seconds, Dean is gone and Sam can only scream his name and flinch when he hears Dean thud against the ground.

Sam hurries across the room, taking out some accelerant and salt from a duffle bag they brought up and dousing the damn locket in both. It’s soon on fire and the spirit is wailing but Sam doesn’t even care, he’s just running as fast as he can down the stone steps, trying to catch up with something he couldn’t prevent.

The truck from before is gone, imprints left in the grass from when the teens made their frantic escape. Sam rounds the base of the tower, that awful feeling back in his gut.

Dean is lying on his back in the grass, his body surrounded by a halo of glass. Sam swallows thickly when he realizes Dean is lying in the red patch he’d spotted earlier. Sam finds himself praying, his head a whirlwind of chaotic thoughts as he approaches his brother.

“No no no no.” Sam pleads. He comes to a stop and kneels next to Dean. He feels like his head is full of cotton and his vision is becoming blurry. He can’t speak he can’t breathe he can’t think because this can’t be real.

Dean’s eyes are open, staring blankly at the dark sky. A few cuts lie across his face, remnants of the broken glass. Sam doesn’t want to look at the broken limbs splayed out from his torso like some smashed doll. He doesn’t want to see his unnaturally pale skin that looks as thin as paper, the surface turning a light blue with every passing second. He wants to see him blink his eyes, wants to see his chest rise and fall with precious air, wants to hear him laugh, wants him to do anything.

But he stays still and silent so Sam weeps. 

Sam moves closer and cries and cries onto his brother’s cold skin. Sam sobs as he cradles Dean’s head and feels a sickening give at the back of his skull, the bone crushed and the sticky blood still dripping onto the grass. 

Sam sniffles and cries and curses the world. He curses the universe and everything that controls it because Dean may have made mistakes, but he chose to do things with the best of intentions paving his way. Dean fought for life, fought for Sam and this isn’t fair, but of course Dean would leave Sam doing what he’s always done.

Minutes, hours, maybe even years pass for all Sam cares until his tears finally stop and leave his eyes so puffy that it’s painful to see. The world could have exploded for all Sam cares because his world is dead and gone.

The sun rises and the tower casts an ominous shadow across the ground. Sam wishes he didn’t have to move, that he could just fade away, but he can’t because Dean deserves more than that.

Finally, Sam slides his arms beneath Dean’s body, his hold firm and strong as he rises. Even if Dean is dead and Sam is heartbroken, he owes this to Dean for all he’s done for Sam. 

With heavy steps and a heavy heart, though carrying Dean feels like no burden at all, Sam repays his brother and carries him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother" by The Hollies.


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